♥ Site recommended story ♥

Brand spanking new fiction by your host, Rod Cayenne. All the characters are aged 18 or over. Strictly adults only!

Richard was a neighbour, and had been a member of the local fire brigade ever since leaving school. Our friendship had started during a scout “Bob-A-Job” week, with me polishing his fireman’s boots for him. It carried on long after that week though. In subsequent years I found I was still polishing his work boots for him most weeks, in return for some generous pocket money. I’d thought it quite strange how he’d ask me to come in my scout or school uniform, though. He assured me that I looked so much smarter like that than in casual wear. I guess he was right about that and I was happy to play along as long as he paid me.

I came to adore his boots. It turned into a bit of a fetish for me. I fantasised about his boots constantly. I imagined him naked apart from his black leather boots, dominating me. He was a tall, sexy single guy and one of my first teenage crushes.

I was 18 and horny, and I started to add an extra, secret ingredient to the polish – a little bit of my sperm. Generally I brought the spunk in from home in a little glass screwtop bottle and added drops of it to the polish as I worked on the shiny boots, if he wasn’t watching me. Very occasionally he would have to go out while I was there, and on those times, I’d usually manufacture a fresh supply by masturbating straight on to his boots. The jets of my hot cum would then be worked straight into the boots, with layers and layers of black polish on top. Then one day, he caught me just after I’d just manufactured a new load of the secret ingredient and was about to massage it into his boots, my school trousers and pants still pulled down!

“I can explain!” I cried, but of course, I couldn’t. The fresh spunk lying on the boots did all the talking for me. I rapidly hitched up my black pants and grey school trousers. Unfortunately, just at that moment, the glass bottle of sperm dropped from my trouser pocket onto the floor. Damn! He’d seen it!

“Aha,” he said as he held the small bottle up to the light, “A premeditated crime, I see. And just how long has this been going on?”

At that point I just wanted to die, or have the ground swallow me up. Shit! I had been caught. Caught bang to rights, defiling the shiny black leather of this generous friend of mine. I didn’t know what to say about it, so I just whispered in shame, “I love your boots.”

“Yes, I can see that, you dirty little boy! You haven’t answered my question though, have you? So let me check the facts here. You’ve been bringing a bottle of your spunk to work into my boots? And today you’ve not even used its contents, instead you’ve jerked straight onto my boots.” He’d worked it all out. Every sordid detail. “And I’ve been paying you for this dubious pleasure! Well, more fool me. Now, what will your parents say when I tell them what you’ve been up to?”

This time I had to be more vocal! I begged and begged him not to tell them. My face was red with embarrassment. I felt as if I’d burst into tears at any moment, or piss myself with shame.

“Well, I could punish you myself, I suppose. But no! It’s not my place to do that.”

“But your Dad doesn’t beat you in the biblical manner? ‘Cause that’s what you really deserve, you know.”

“No of course he doesn’t and yes, I guess I’ve been bad enough to deserve something like that.”

“Well, you’re in luck, in a manner of speaking. It just so happens that I have a strap and cane here. I had a rather awkward lodger who would only respond to a sore arse. I think maybe you’re the same. In fact, I know you’re the same. Get up the stairs!”

I soon found myself in the master bedroom of his two bed maisonette. He piled pillows in the middle of the pine king-size bed and made me mount them, after pulling down my school trousers and pants for me.

One thing was for sure, he knew how to make that leather strap sting like the blazes! It hurt and it burnt my tender bare teenage flesh. I was riding on crests of pain, but also mixed in was the first tingling of pleasure from the pain. I even had time to daydream idly about the possibility of working some of my spunk into the leather strap! I wondered if he’d let me? It seemed appropriate somehow, LOL. A noisy and particularly sharp blow brought me back down to earth however, terminating all pervy thoughts, at least for a while. I wasn’t counting, but I reckon there were about twenty blows in all. I was relieved when the beating stopped. What had started as fairly mild discipline had soon escalated into a festival of sadism. The last blows had broken me, and rare tears trickled down my face.

“There! I hope that leathering has taught you to never weaken good leather by spunking on it. I’m disgusted by all of this you know! Really disgusted. Even I wasn’t like this at your age. Anyway, now, it’s time for some extra punishment for making me pay you good money for your depravity.”

“What? No, really Richard, I can’t take anymore!”

“I’m afraid lad that my cane always gets used once I’ve got it out from it secret lair! Let me assure you, no naughty boy leaves my house uncaned! I’m going to be lenient, however. A quick six of the best should cure your emissions forever.”

Six strokes didn’t sound at all lenient to me! My arse was already pitifully sore. I heard him swooshing the cane through the air. He cackled with delight as he crashed the first stroke down onto my naked haunches. I’d never felt pain like it, of course. The cane was an order of magnitude worse than the leather strap. My poor abused arse twisted from left to right and back again as I tried in vain to avoid each burning stroke of the unforgiving rattan. He was true to his word, in that this extra beating was quick. But the pain! Oh God! I yelped and cried as my flesh was criss-crossed not with six but with eight stinging cuts. The bastard had given me two extra strokes, on the flimsy pretext that I’d been writhing in attempt to avoid my punishment. I heard him drop the cane and then, as he moved closer to me, I heard him breathing heavily from the exertion of the beating.

Suddenly I felt the bell-end of his penis pushing against the entrance to my tight puckered anus. A little bit of cold lube and his sheathed monster was in me, thrusting and twisting. I loved it! He was an animal, a beast and a truly fantastic fucker. Never before had my virgin back passage known such pleasure. I knew we’d have to be doing this regularly in future. Yes, I loved it, and I could tell that he did too. I could even see the continuation of my undeclared income stream…

After coming noisily, he slapped my bare bottom and nibbled lovingly at my ear, whispering gently, “Now, anymore of this perverse nonsense, and I’ll take you down the fire station to show the lads your red arse! It’s their favourite colour, you know.”

______________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters and businesses appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

Although the smoke of the steam engines engulfed the platform, the two figures recognised each other instantly.

“Hello Aunt Penelope!”

“Hello Gregory!”

They exchanged a kiss and smiled at each other.

“It’s very kind of you to let me stay this week! I really want to explore the city’s architecture. It will help with my finals.”

“There’s no finer city in Scotland, Gregory. I’ll show you around. Just be a good lad for me.”

“Oh I will Aunty! I’ll be on my best behaviour. You won’t be needing your old cane this time.”

“Well, that’s good. I don’t think I’ve got it any more. I think your uncle threw it out just before he died. He said it wouldn’t be needed any more.”

“Oh,” said Gregory trying to hide his disappointment. He had been thinking about his Aunt’s canings a lot lately. They had been terrible at the time but now that he was in his early twenties and sexually mature, he had rather fancied a reminder of the cane’s bitter sweet caress. “You must really miss Uncle Robert.”

“Yes, I do miss him. Most of all I miss having a man around the house. I feel like I’m rattling around in that big empty house. So it will be a comfort having you to stay for the week. Come on, let’s head home and I’ll fix you some food.”

Over broth and oatcakes the two stared at each other lovingly. There was real electricity between them.

Aunt Penelope nipped out to the outhouse. She hadn’t been there much since the death of her husband. She rummaged around and eventually found what she was looking for – the old leather tawse. She picked it up and stroked it with affection. The brown leather twin-tailed strap was capable of severe punishment. The happily-married couple had used both it and the cane regularly to spice up their sex life. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cane. He hadn’t thrown it out after all! He had always been a bit of a tease! She decided to take both items in to show Gregory.

She placed both items on the kitchen table. Gregory was sat there still, daydreaming, but the arrival of the cane and tawse brought him back down to earth.

“Oh Aunty, you won’t be needing those, will you?”

“I rather think I might be, young Gregory!”

“I thought you said Uncle Robert had thrown the cane away.”

“Well, I honestly thought he had. But now I’ve found it, I rather think I might put it to use.”

“Oh Aunty! And that beastly tawse?”

“Yes, that too! I think you deserve a good thrashing for all those times you took advantage of me.”

“But Aunty, you led me on!”

“Yes, I may have done. But you should have declined. I had a devil of a job keeping it secret from Robbie.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t. I felt so guilty though. Maybe he guessed and that’s what finished him off. Poor Robbie. Anyway, you can take advantage again this week, but only if you accept your punishment first!”

“Oh Aunty, must I?”

“Yes, you must. It’ll help us both assuage the guilt, I think.”

“Yes, Aunty. I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope you’ve brought your kilt.”

He nodded.

“Go and change into it then. Remember, no underwear”

“Yes, Aunty.”

So it came to be that the two of them met up in the master bedroom. Gregory looked smart in his traditional Scottish wear, and Aunt Penelope looked severe in a black girdle. She flexed the cane menacingly.

“Right Gregory, bend over the side of the bed and lift your kilt up for me. I will be alternating strokes between the cane and the tawse. That’s it, stick your rump out for me.”

She approached him, and tucked the cane under her arm. She had a good feel of his generous, meaty rump. Its skin was still soft and boyish, not nearly as hairy as her husband’s had been. The smooth surface was about to become marked by the lash of the cane.

SWISH-CRACK!

“ACH – YEOWCH!” Gregory cried as the stroke was much harder than he’d been expecting. He heard the clatter of the cane being put down on the side table.

WHACK! Now the tawse lashed down. A different kind of pain followed. A bruising, hurtful pain.

SWISH-CRACK! It was the cane again and a sharp line of fire assaulted his arse.

WHACK! The tawse crashed down on Gregory’s cheeks.

SWISH-CRACK! The whippy cane struck down.

WHAACK! The tawse crashed down even harder than before!

“AARGH!”

WHACK! The tawse struck again, unexpectedly, as the cane had been due.

“OWWW!”

“That’s enough of the tawse, I think. Six of the best with the cane!”

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

SWISH-CRACK!

Both were really getting into their stride. Aunt Penelope stopped to feel his manly cheeks. They were hot and inviting. She made a mental note to find something suitable to push up his arsehole. A quick feel of his semi-erect penis followed. Yes, it would serve her well once again.

Adult fiction by Rod Cayenne, repeated from 2012…Over-18s only

DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The stern military man banged his fist on the desk, “Well, you’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? Cavorting naked all over the place, bringing yourself, your family and us into disrepute! I’d expect it of a greenhorn squaddie, but not a 27-year-old officer.”

“Good. Anyway, I haven’t finished yet. Whatever will your father think of this?”

“My father is an impotent old fool.”

“Such disrespect! You will be caned!”

“Caned? Is that allowed?”

“It’s an old military tradition, you know. Barely legal, but appropriate in this case, I feel.”

“But Sir!”

“No buts. I’ve decided. Now, would you like a male or female to give you the punishment?”

“Oh well. A man, Sir. Definitely a man. Will you do it please, Sir?”

“Well, I shall, but I’ve decided that an element of humiliation would be an appropriate addition. So I propose to give you one dozen hard strokes on your naked buttocks. And then a female will give you a final six strokes, also bare. How do you feel about that?”

“Uncomfortable!” laughed the prince. “Who will the female be?”

“It’s not a laughing matter! I’ve thought long and hard about which female to assign this unpleasant duty to. Fortunately, a volunteer came forward. Someone who is old enough to remember the halcyon days of corporal punishment. Yet someone who has been besotted with you, as she has always been a great royalist. The lady in question is Miss Trenchard!”

Miss Trenchard was well known to the prince. She supervised the catering at the base, was in her fifties and had a reputation as a bit of an old battle-axe. She was of large build and, the prince reflected, would probably be a hard caner.

“You will report in full uniform at 6pm tonight. Punishment will take place in the Billiard Room. Miss Trenchard’s idea. I can’t imagine why!”

“Yes, Sir. Very good, Sir!”

“Dismissed!”

………………………………………………..

An hour or so later, the prince was sat on the toilet. In the cold, lonely cubicle he played idly with the royal penis. It had seen some good times lately, but now its owner was due for a full military dressing-down! He’d never had the cane before, but somehow the idea was causing both fear and excitement at the same time. Just the thought of the two disciplinarians caused his cock to stiffen. He decided that both would be rewarded in the next Honours List, if he enjoyed his caning.

………………………………………………..

“Remove his cap, Miss Trenchard!”

“Yes Sir, with pleasure!”

“Yes Sir, sorry it was a bit cold on parade this morning, so I thought…”

“Are you a man or a boy? Vest, indeed! Get it off him, Miss Trenchard.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

“And what’s that silly charm thing around his neck? Get it off and put it in the bin, will you?”

“It’s probably gold and worth thousands, Sir.”

“OK, give it to me a minute then. Thank you. Now get his boots off.”

The prince sat down on one of the plastic chairs. Miss Trenchard gazed lovingly at the shiny black leather boots, carefully unlacing them and then removing both. She also pulled his socks off. She gave them a sly sniff as she laid them down next to his clothes. “Stand up,” she told him.

Without being asked, she undid his belt. Slowly his military fatigue trousers fell to the ground.

“Just those horrible boxer short things to go now, Miss Trenchard. Will you do the honours please? Thank you. Good God man! An erection! Another outrage! This may mean extra strokes. Miss Trenchard see if you can cure it, please!”

She grabbed the royal cock and twisted it. Soon it shriveled.

“Well done, Miss Trenchard. You deserve a medal for that.”

“Thank you, Sir. My pleasure,” she said, unable to believe her luck.

“Now then lad! You will bend over the billiard table here. You will remain in position until all strokes have been delivered and I have told you that you may rise. Any disobedience, standing up, fidgeting or excessive noise may incur extra punishment, as will any further sign of an erection. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Miss Trenchard, please fetch the cane for me.”

She rummaged among the billiard cues.

“There are two here, Sir!”

“Aha! Let me have a look.”

The first cane was straight and had a coloured, braided handle.

The second was more like a school cane, with a beautifully curved handle.

“I wonder where that’s come from? I’ve never seen it before. Looks like it’s designed for recreational use. Still, it should sting a great deal,” he said as he cut it through the air with an almighty swish. “I will use the regimental cane, you may use the other.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now just one more thing to do. Nip to the bar next door and invite any of the lads there to come and watch. Tell them it’s entirely unofficial, though! And no camera phones!”

He addressed the prince, “Most military men seem to have an interest in spanking and discipline.”

Soon an audience of seven beery lads had assembled. They feasted their eyes on the naked prince before them.

“It’s Princey!” bellowed one inebriated crowd member.

“Yes, indeed and Miss Trenchard and I will be putting this stupid boy through his paces. You are welcome to watch his punishment, but keep the noise down. And strictly no pictures please.”

CRACK! Out of the blue the regimental cane slashed down on the naked royal cheeks! This was accompanied by various oohs and ahs from the audience and some spontaneous applause.

“Quiet you lot! That was the first of the twelve strokes I’ll be giving with the regimental cane. Miss Trenchard will then take over and be using the traditional school cane on this naughty boy!”

This caused some laughter from the crowd and much embarrassment for the naked prince.

CRACK! A second stroke lashed down. The prince screwed up his eyes as he tried to cope with the pain. He didn’t want to cry out now that there was an audience. No doubt they’d been brought in to increase his humiliation.

CRACK! The third stroke was agony, causing the victim to gasp and buck.

“KEEP STILL!” he was commanded.

Then there was a distraction, as the barman also came and joined the crowd. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” he whispered to Miss Trenchard. She smiled and thought the same thing. Beneath her frumpy dress, her generous knickers were already moist from the excitement.

CRACK ! CRACK! Two fast strokes followed. The audience was hushed and a little flexing and swishing of the cane through the air followed.

CRACK! This time there was an anguished “ARRGH!” from the prince.

CRACK! CRACK! He was taking it comparatively well, considering that the cane was a severe rattan.

CRACK! The ninth stroke fell, with a gasp and some fidgeting from the prince.

“I SHAN’T TELL YOU AGAIN, KEEP STILL BOY!”

A few of the audience chuckled at this admonishment.

CRACK! The tenth stroke was accompanied by a loud grunt from the prince, who was not getting any pleasure from his beating, it seemed.

CRACK! CRACK! A final brace from the regimental cane and a sharp “YEOWWW!” from the prince. A round of applause from the audience followed. The beaten arse was red and sore all over. That rattan cane was clearly something special.

“That completes the dozen strokes with the regimental cane. That was for bringing disgrace on our noble regiment. Miss Trenchard will now take over. She will be giving a traditional six of the best using this school cane, just to remind the prince that he has been behaving just like a naughty schoolboy. I trust you will enjoy this, and ask again for some hush as we proceed.”

SWISH-CRACK! “YEEOWW!” Unexpectedly, the prince cried out. The sting of this whippier cane was awful on top of the earlier beating.

SWISH-CRACK! “ARRGH!” Clearly Miss Trenchard was an expert with the cane.

SWISH-CRACK! The prince managed to keep quiet for this one, even though it stung like mad.

SWISH-CRACK! Perhaps he was getting used to it?

SWISH-CRACK! Perhaps he was enjoying it?

“Thank you, thank you Miss Trenchard! An excellent thrashing! It seems your time as a domestic science teacher wasn’t a complete waste of time!” The audience laughed at the joke. “Now, there is one additional matter to deal with…”

The prince groaned.

“I’m afraid that the prince flashed us earlier with his excited member, so I will award three additional strokes for that. Miss Trenchard, would you be so kind?”

SWISH-CRACK! “ARGH!”

SWISH-CRACK! “OWWW!”

SWISH-CRACK! “YEEEOWWW!”

Miss Trenchard would have liked to carry on all night, but fairness made her put down the cane and say, “Well despite the noise, I think he’s had enough, Sir!” The prince had taken 21 hard strokes, but at last his suffering was over. The audience cheered and clapped as he was allowed up and handed his clothes. Life would never be the same again for many of the participants and spectators. But was the prince happy?

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D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

♥ Site recommended story ♥

I wasn’t really interested in the poster advertising a charity county fair at a country house nearby until I saw, in smaller print nearer the bottom, tours of the house and stables. I had more than a passing interest in stables, such masculine places and all that leather. I found the mixed aroma of horse and leather a real turn on.

Two weeks later I made my way to the fair and booked myself in the for the stables tour which wasn’t until later in the day. I tried to amuse myself looking around the various stalls, but my mind was on the stables tour. Eventually the time arrived and I assembled with others at a gateway leading to the stable block.

We were greeted by someone who introduced himself at Matt, the head groom and stables manager. He really looked the part, tall, well built, longish fair hair. He was wearing shiny black leather riding boots, but in place of the riding jodhpurs I was expecting, he wore jeans tucked firmly into his boots topped off with a wide black leather belt.

We started by visiting the horses in their stalls, some were racing horses others, Matt told us, used for their riding school. It was interesting how the horses recognised Matt and how they reacted to his commands. Each of the horses had their name on a sign over their stall. Every horse looked in tip top condition.

It was time to move onto the tack room, now things were getting really interesting. The smell of leather hit you as you entered. I could feel myself becoming aroused. It didn’t help when Matt picked up a riding crop which he used to point out various parts of the saddles and other equipment. I was hoping my arousal wasn’t showing too much when someone in the party asked a question and whilst answering, Matt started slapping the crop against his leg of his boot. The excitement was now too much for me to conceal and I moved away from the other visitors noticing dampness in the front of my jeans.

The tour was over and people were thanking Matt and leaving, but I wanted to stay longer. I frantically searched for something to ask him to delay my leaving. I finally thought of something.

So you have a riding school here. I’ve always wanted to ride. How much does it cost? I asked.

We only do complete courses, not individual lessons, so it runs into hundreds of pounds, Matt replied.

This was not what I wanted to hear. I had only recently started my first job and couldn’t afford that sort of money, but I still needed to engage Matt in conversation. He was now sliding his crop down into his boot, a sign he may be about to leave.

How about working here? I asked in desperation.

What a full time job? I’m not sure that we need anyone at the moment, Matt replied.

No, weekends, I’ll do anything. I’d love to work with horses, I told him.

Matt looked thoughtful for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. We may be able to work something out, he announced. We always need extra help at the weekends and, if you worked enough hours, we may be able to arrange some lessons in lieu of payment. How does that sound?

Yes, that would be wonderful, thanks, I enthused.

Matt smiled. Come to the office and let’s see what we can work out.

We left the tack room and Matt led me to a separate building beyond the stables which housed his office. The walls were covered in photographs of horses accompanied by brightly covered rosettes won at various shows and horse trials. Before he sat at his desk, Matt removed the crop from his boot and threw it down on the desk.

Let’s get a few details, he said pulling a notepad in front of him.

Matt noted my name and address, where I worked, what school I attended, along with my qualifications.

I need to OK this with the owner. I’ll try and locate him now, but with all the visitors it may be difficult. Sit down here and wait and I’ll be back as soon as I can, Matt said as he left the office.

I sat down in his chair. The riding crop was still on the desk, it looked an awesome piece of equipment and I couldn’t resist picking it up. It was heavier than I expected, made of platted leather with a thicker handle and a flat plain leather tab on the other end. Nervously I raised it up to my face; the scent of the leather was wonderful. Holding the handle I slashed it though the air enjoying the swishing noise it made. I quickly placed it back on the desk as I heard a voice in the distance which was possibly Matt returning. I hoped I had placed the crop exactly as he had left it. I got up from his chair and he sat down.

Right, that’s all arranged then, Matt announced. You can start next Saturday, eight o’clock sharp, same conditions as the full time stable lads. Don’t expect the work to be exciting, it will be mucking out, feeding and watering, but later, if you come up to scratch, we may show you how to look after the saddles and other equipment.

That sounded perfect. Thanks, I’ll not let you down, I assured him.

Better not, Matt replied. One other thing, we run a disciplined business here built on respect. All the lads call me sir and that will apply to you as well, understand?

Yes, no problem, I replied.

Let’s try that again, Matt snapped. Or you will have a problem.

Sorry. Yes sir! I corrected myself.

That’s better, Matt said getting up from his seat. See you on Saturday.

I thanked Matt again and made my way home in a daze, not believing what had happened.

The following Saturday I got up early determined not to be late for my first day. The only way I could get to the stables for eight o’clock was to cycle there. It took about thirty minutes and I arrived well before eight o’clock.

I was met by one of the full-time stable lads who introduced himself as Keith. He was slightly younger than me and explained that usually one, sometimes two of the regular stable lads had to work at the weekend and have time off during the week, so they were pleased that I had started to work there at the weekend. Matt was elsewhere and had told Keith to get me started.

I asked Keith what it was like to work there and what Matt was like to work for.

OK, he replied. But he’s pretty strict so don’t get on the wrong side of him or you’ll come off worse.

Keith took me to what he called the boot room which was just behind the tack room. A row of wellington boots stood on a low shelf, overalls hung on pegs and tools such as brushes, shovels and pitchforks were hanging on a rack.

Find some wellies and a pair of overalls that fit and if you take your own clothes off first, you won’t go home stinking of horse shit, Keith suggested.

Keith showed me what tools were needed to start mucking out and we took them to the first stable where he showed me how to slip a halter onto the horse and lead it to a spare stall while we mucked out.

Keith stayed with me until we heard a vehicle outside in the yard. I looked out and saw a large van towing a trailer containing a portable forge.

That will be Andy, the Farrier, Keith said. He’s here today to do a couple of urgent jobs; his apprentice doesn’t work on Saturdays so I have to help him.

I couldn’t help but be aroused when I saw the farrier. He was younger than I expected, his hard work had obviously developed his muscular body which looked good in a sleeveless t-shirt. Over his jeans he wore a pair of leather chaps finished off with a pair of heavy boots. Keith and Andy walked off together to the next stable block. I couldn’t help being a bit envious.

I carried on working on my own, doing exactly as Keith had shown me. The next time I looked out Andy and Keith were working at the portable forge, Andy holding a horse’s leg with upturned foot against his legs while he attended to its hoof.

Matt eventually arrived and I heard him talking to the farrier, then he came to the stable where I was working.

Hope you’re doing a thorough job there, he shouted across to me.

Yes sir. Keith’s showed me what to do, I replied.

Matt walked into the stalls that I’d already completed, moved the new hay around with this boot and seemed satisfied.

Just the next block to do, then barrow the muck round the back, he instructed.

By the time I moved to the next stable block the farrier had finished working on the two horses and he stood by his van talking to Matt. The next time I went out into the yard, his van was still there but no one was around. I carried on with my work until I needed to empty the barrow. As I passed the other stable block I heard voices inside, it sounded like Keith and the farrier. Curiosity got the better of me and as quietly as I could, I went into the stable block. Sounds were coming from a stall at the other end. I crept into a nearby stall and positioned myself so I could see what they were doing.

Andy, the farrier, was leaning on the back wall. Keith was kneeling in front of him servicing his cock through the leather chaps and jeans. Andy’s head was thrown back and his hands were on Keith’s head urging him on. So this was what he meant by helping the farrier. The sight was quite a turn on and I felt my cock hardening until I couldn’t resist unfastening the front of my overalls and pleasuring myself.

Suddenly Andy and Keith broke apart and I needed to get out of there. As I darted from the stall my foot caught a metal water bucket which tipped and clattered across the brick floor. Andy and Keith both turned and saw me as I frantically tried to fasten the front of my overalls.

What are you doing in here? demanded Andy.

I… I… I was just….. Andy didn’t allow me to finish

You were spying on us instead of getting on with your work and, by the look of your overalls, that wasn’t the only thing. Matt’s going to love this.

You’re not telling him are you? I pleaded. Surely he didn’t want Matt to know what had been going on in that stable.

Why shouldn’t I? After all it’s Matt that provides me with a lad, Andy replied.

That was it then, probably my first and last working day at the stables. I looked at Keith who just shrugged and walked off followed by Andy. I completed my work hoping that perhaps the matter would be forgotten.

I had just taken the final load to the dump when Matt appeared looking angry. You, tack room, now boy, he shouted to me across the yard.

I crossed then yard to the tack room; both Matt and Andy were inside.

Matt glared at me before he spoke So instead of working, you go spying on other people.

No sir, it wasn’t like that, honestly, I stammered.

What was it like then? Seems pretty clear to me, Matt continued.

I couldn’t think of anything to excuse myself, I just waited for the inevitable.

Matt turned to Andy. How do you deal with your apprentice when he steps out of line? he asked.

He feels my strap, good and hard, Andy replied.

Matt smiled. Good idea. Get those overalls off, he instructed me.

Was I really hearing this? No sir, please… I didn’t…

Your choice boy, Matt told me. Do it or you’re out.

So this was to be my only way of staying. I made my decision, kicked off my wellington boots and removed the overalls which left me standing in just my underpants and feeling very vulnerable.

Last week when I left you in my office, you seemed very interested in my riding crop, or so it seemed when I saw you through the window, so perhaps…..

Matt picked up the crop from a nearby rack and smacked it loudly against the side of his boot causing me to flinch. But as it’s your first time……

Matt put down the crop, unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops and folded it double.

Get those pants off. Matt ordered looking threatening.

No sir, not bare, please sir, I pleaded.

I’m waiting, do it now! Matt shouted.

I slid my underpants down and stepped out of them leaving me standing completely naked waiting for the inevitable.

Matt nodded at Andy who stepped forward, grabbed a handful of my hair, bent me over and clamped my head between his legs in a vice like grip just like he did the horse’s leg. The scent from his chaps which were now pressing hard against my face was overpowering, a mixture of leather and horse. I was so overcome I hardly noticed that he had grabbed my wrists and was holding them tight against his hips. I jumped as I felt a hand stroking my cheeks, then a finger running down my crack.

I then heard Matt’s voice. Nice meaty bum, just right for the belt.

There followed a load crack and a band of red hot fire spread across my buttocks. I struggled but Andy was holding me in his firm grip and my yell was muffled by my head being encased in his legs. More followed, again I tried to yell out. Matt certainly knew how to use a belt. Then I noticed, I was getting hard and, as the belting continued, I got harder despite the pain which somehow was getting more bearable.

Eventually the belting stopped and Andy released his grip on my hands and head. I stood up, my hands going straight to my red hot cheeks in an attempt to rub away the stinging. I had forgotten about my hard cock.

Looks like he enjoyed that, joked Andy staring down at my erection.

Make sure he enjoys the next lot then, answered Matt. That was for being in the stable spying when you should have been working, Matt continued. Now Andy’s going to punish you for spying on him.

Andy went over to his old wooden toolbox which on the floor just inside the door, opened the lid and took out an old heavy wide leather strap, longer and wider than a waist belt and placed it on a saddle stand. He then stripped off his sleeveless top revealing even more of this strong muscular body. If this was intended to intimidate me it was certainly working. A belting from this man would be no soft option. He picked up the belt, folded it double, its extra length allowing him to wind some of the buckle end around his fist.

Andy pointed to the saddle stand. Get across there, he ordered.

I hesitated only to feel Matt’s hand grab the back of my neck and force me over the stand. He then went round to the front and held me down by pressing on my shoulders.

Andy put his boot between my ankles and forced my legs further apart then moved to my left side. With his belt being so long he stood well back and I could see him lining up his first stroke. I clenched my buttocks tight and the belt landed with a load crack and re-ignited the heat and stinging as he sought new spots to land his belt. He went lower finding the tender area. Matt was good but Andy was an expert. This time my yells as each stroke landed were not muffled, but it didn’t seem to matter how much noise I made.

Andy finally stopped and Matt released my shoulders allowing me once again to rub my red hot and stinging bum.

Get dressed and get on your way, ordered Matt, And remember, that’s how we deal with lads who step out of line here. Next time it could be my crop.

Andy and Matt left the tack room and I quickly put the overalls and wellingtons back on and went to the boot room to change for home. It was then I remembered I had a thirty minute ride home on my bike, it was going to be uncomfortable, but I could always stand up on the pedals if it got too much.

I was half way down the drive from the house when Andy’s van and trailer overtook me. Further down the drive he stopped and signalled me to pull up.

It must be really painful sitting on that saddle, Andy observed. How far do you have to go?

I told him and he replied that it wasn’t too far out of his way so I could put my bike in the van and he would drop me off. I did as he suggested and was thankful that I didn’t have to ride that bike any further. I climbed into the front of the van beside Andy, he laughed as I carefully lowered myself onto the seat.

Was that your first belting? Andy asked as he drove off.

Yes, I confirmed.

You took it well. Which one hurt the most? Andy asked.

Yours of course, I replied. That’s quite some belt.

Andy grinned. Yes, and I get plenty of practice. My apprentice often needs to go over the bench for a good leathering. Look, we’re near my place now so I’ll drop the trailer off and then take you home.

We pulled up in front of his forge. The sign above the door was similar to the one on the sides of his van. Andy unhitched the trailer, then shouted, Come and have a look round if you like.

I left the van and followed him into the forge. He was carrying his toolbox which he placed on the bench.

I wanted to show you this, he said opening the box and taking out the belt he had used on me earlier. He unrolled the belt and placed it flat on the bench, the rough back uppermost.

See those marks? he asked. There’s a mark for every time the belt’s been used. The first, nearest the buckle, are when it was used on me when I was an apprentice. It was then passed to me when I took over the business and the later marks are when I used it.

The rows of marks were small but I could make out a date, a number and some had another mark.

Let’s add you, Andy suggested.

He took a marker from his tool box and added the date followed by an 8, the number of strokes, and then made the other mark which, he explained, was for others, not an apprentice. Looking at the belt there had been numerous others. I wondered who they were.

Were you envious when you saw Keith and me in the stable? Andy asked changing the subject.

I hesitated. Err… yes, I eventually admitted.

Let’s try you out then, Andy suggested.

I went down on my knees and Andy opened the front of his chaps and unzipped his jeans. As he pulled my head towards him I again caught the smell of his chaps, but this time in place of pain…pleasure.

________________

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Erotic equestrian fiction by Rod Cayenne

“You seem to be a little too fond of the whip, my friend!” he admonished. “Please cut down its use on the horses. If you have a sadistic streak, you should take it out on the stable lads or lassies. They are used to the riding crop and dressage whip on their haunches.”

“Really?” I laughed as I dismounted and tied the horse. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Aha, another enthusiast, if I’m not mistaken. I’m not shocked. Your interest is quite common. Are you really keen? If so, I may be able to help.”

“Really?” I asked again. I stared into his blue eyes.

“Yes, really. There is a flogging group hereabouts. Interested?”

“Yes, rather! Tell me more please,” I added, more than intrigued.

“It’s called The Crop Circle. Get it?”

“Oh, how very droll. Sounds right up my street.”

“Well, don’t get too worked up about it just yet. Let me tell you a bit more about it.”

“Thank you,” I added, trying to seem humble and at the same time trying to will away an erection from forming in my jodhpurs as I thought about beating stable lads and lasses.

“Alright then. I’ll be honest with you. It started off as a spin-off from an occult group.”

“Oh, wicked!” I said, somewhat childishly.

“Quite. But then quite a few of us realised we were more interested in the floggings than the witchcraft.”

“I see. I understand.”

“Of course, some of the traditions have followed on. There is an initiation. Which will be painful for you…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I can handle that.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Most likely it’ll be be a birching. With rods you’ve collected yourself from the sacred forest.”

I gulped a little. It’s true I was less keen suddenly, although I was aware that I had a masochistic side too. We went into the stables where he showed me the fine collection of crops and whips, which were prominently on display. I picked a crop and admired its beautiful craftsmanship and leatherwork. I placed it back with a shudder.

“I’ll get the Circle Master to contact you. Of course, I cannot guarantee anything. He is choosy. There is the initiation and you have to prove yourself worthy. There are dominant and submissive members of the group. And of course, some who like a little of both sides of the coin. Tell me frankly, where would you see yourself fitting in?”

“Well, to be honest, I do like a bit of variety in all things.”

“I see. At least, I think I do. You want some give and some take?”

“Yes. Yes, to be honest, that’s what I really want.”

“Good! In that case I think a preliminary thrashing right now would be appropriate.”

“What?”

“Yes, just think of it as a pre-initiation. After all, I could forget to mention your interest to the Circle Master.”

I don’t think I’d ever felt so trapped in my life before!

“Can I keep my jods on please?”

“No, no, no! That won’t do at all! It wouldn’t be a proper initiation if it wasn’t on the bare, would it?”

“But this is just the pre-initiation,” I tried to plead.

“Don’t split hairs and don’t try to be funny with me. The stable hands get it bare, and they are a lot younger and less tough than you are. Get your bottom bare now and get over the bale. I’m going to beat you for excessive use of the whip. Isn’t that fair?”

“Yes, I suppose so. Although I didn’t mean any harm by my use of the whip.”

“Tell that to your mount! But don’t worry, because I won’t mean any harm by my use of the whip on you. To make it fair, I’ll use your own whip on you. Give it to me please.”

I handed the crop over. It was a cheap item, not as impressive as those in the display, and I was seriously doubting that it was that severe. However, my opinion soon altered as it thrashed down on my naked haunches!

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I gasped as lines of fire lit up my backside.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

It was humiliating.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

It was even worse that I was being beaten with my own crop.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

I resolved to go easy on the horses in future.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The flames began to subside just a little as the crop was thrown down beside me.

“I think we’ll complete your schooling with a final half-dozen with the dressage whip!”

I wanted to say no, more than anything in the world. But I was under the instructor’s spell, and the word just wouldn’t come out. He pushed me further into the bale with his shiny boot.

That dressage whip was even worse! It cut and flailed and reduced me to tears. It was agony. Agony and ecstasy. I loved it!

There were to be several more sessions over bales, fine leather saddles and in a bedroom back in the farmhouse once the weather got really cold. But I didn’t hear from the Circle Master in all that time. Had I been tricked, or was I just not worthy? I didn’t want to press it with the instructor as our sessions were so intense and enjoyable. No, I didn’t want to jeopardise the good thing we were sharing.

I dare say that there are a lot of fans of The Velvet Underground band here at The Canery. Their proto-punk and early grunge influenced whole generations of musicians from David Bowie onwards. Their first album featuring not only Lou Reed and John Cale but Nico as well, is regarded as a classic. We’ve all been thrilled by the song “Venus In Furs” with lines “Taste the whip, In love not given lightly” and its evocations of shiny black leather boots. Well, I have at least!

Ah, but how many of you know where the band’s name came from? No, it wasn’t an Andy Warhol inspiration. The name was from a discarded book found in the street in New York. The book was the sensationalist exposé of fetish and sexual perversion, “The Velvet Underground” by Mike Leigh. For many years copies were hard to find and commanded a premium, just because of the association with the perennially hip band. No longer! If you fancy a giggle, this tacky sexploitation book has been re-issued and is available from your local bookshop or online retailer at a very reasonable price. However, the joke soon wears thin, so don’t expect a re-issue of the sequel “The Velvet Underground Revisited” anytime soon!

Adult fiction by Rod Cayenne…Over-18s only

DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The stern military man banged his fist on the desk, “Well, you’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? Cavorting naked all over the place, bringing yourself, your family and us into disrepute! I’d expect it of a greenhorn squaddie, but not a 27-year-old officer.”

“Good. Anyway, I haven’t finished yet. Whatever will your father think of this?”

“My father is an impotent old fool.”

“Such disrespect! You will be caned!”

“Caned? Is that allowed?”

“It’s an old military tradition, you know. Barely legal, but appropriate in this case, I feel.”

“But Sir!”

“No buts. I’ve decided. Now, would you like a male or female to give you the punishment?”

“Oh well. A man, Sir. Definitely a man. Will you do it please, Sir?”

“Well, I shall, but I’ve decided that an element of humiliation would be an appropriate addition. So I propose to give you one dozen hard strokes on your naked buttocks. And then a female will give you a final six strokes, also bare. How do you feel about that?”

“Uncomfortable!” laughed the prince. “Who will the female be?”

“It’s not a laughing matter! I’ve thought long and hard about which female to assign this unpleasant duty to. Fortunately, a volunteer came forward. Someone who is old enough to remember the halcyon days of corporal punishment. Yet someone who has been besotted with you, as she has always been a great royalist. The lady in question is Miss Trenchard!”

Miss Trenchard was well known to the prince. She supervised the catering at the base, was in her fifties and had a reputation as a bit of an old battle-axe. She was of large build and, the prince reflected, would probably be a hard caner.

“You will report in full uniform at 6pm tonight. Punishment will take place in the Billiard Room. Miss Trenchard’s idea. I can’t imagine why!”

“Yes, Sir. Very good, Sir!”

“Dismissed!”

………………………………………………..

An hour or so later, the prince was sat on the toilet. In the cold, lonely cubicle he played idly with the royal penis. It had seen some good times lately, but now its owner was due for a full military dressing-down! He’d never had the cane before, but somehow the idea was causing both fear and excitement at the same time. Just the thought of the two disciplinarians caused his cock to stiffen. He decided that both would be rewarded in the next Honours List, if he enjoyed his caning.

………………………………………………..

“Remove his cap, Miss Trenchard!”

“Yes Sir, with pleasure!”

“Yes Sir, sorry it was a bit cold on parade this morning, so I thought…”

“Are you a man or a boy? Vest, indeed! Get it off him, Miss Trenchard.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

“And what’s that silly charm thing around his neck? Get it off and put it in the bin, will you?”

“It’s probably gold and worth thousands, Sir.”

“OK, give it to me a minute then. Thank you. Now get his boots off.”

The prince sat down on one of the plastic chairs. Miss Trenchard gazed lovingly at the shiny black leather boots, carefully unlacing them and then removing both. She also pulled his socks off. She gave them a sly sniff as she laid them down next to his clothes. “Stand up,” she told him.

Without being asked, she undid his belt. Slowly his military fatigue trousers fell to the ground.

“Just those horrible boxer short things to go now, Miss Trenchard. Will you do the honours please? Thank you. Good God man! An erection! Another outrage! This may mean extra strokes. Miss Trenchard see if you can cure it, please!”

She grabbed the royal cock and twisted it. Soon it shriveled.

“Well done, Miss Trenchard. You deserve a medal for that.”

“Thank you, Sir. My pleasure,” she said, unable to believe her luck.

“Now then lad! You will bend over the billiard table here. You will remain in position until all strokes have been delivered and I have told you that you may rise. Any disobedience, standing up, fidgeting or excessive noise may incur extra punishment, as will any further sign of an erection. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Miss Trenchard, please fetch the cane for me.”

She rummaged among the billiard cues.

“There are two here, Sir!”

“Aha! Let me have a look.”

The first cane was straight and had a coloured, braided handle.

The second was more like a school cane, with a beautifully curved handle.

“I wonder where that’s come from? I’ve never seen it before. Looks like it’s designed for recreational use. Still, it should sting a great deal,” he said as he cut it through the air with an almighty swish. “I will use the regimental cane, you may use the other.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now just one more thing to do. Nip to the bar next door and invite any of the lads there to come and watch. Tell them it’s entirely unofficial, though! And no camera phones!”

He addressed the prince, “Most military men seem to have an interest in spanking and discipline.”

Soon an audience of seven beery lads had assembled. They feasted their eyes on the naked prince before them.

“It’s Princey!” bellowed one inebriated crowd member.

“Yes, indeed and Miss Trenchard and I will be putting this stupid boy through his paces. You are welcome to watch his punishment, but keep the noise down. And strictly no pictures please.”

CRACK! Out of the blue the regimental cane slashed down on the naked royal cheeks! This was accompanied by various oohs and ahs from the audience and some spontaneous applause.

“Quiet you lot! That was the first of the twelve strokes I’ll be giving with the regimental cane. Miss Trenchard will then take over and be using the traditional school cane on this naughty boy!”

This caused some laughter from the crowd and much embarrassment for the naked prince.

CRACK! A second stroke lashed down. The prince screwed up his eyes as he tried to cope with the pain. He didn’t want to cry out now that there was an audience. No doubt they’d been brought in to increase his humiliation.

CRACK! The third stroke was agony, causing the victim to gasp and buck.

“KEEP STILL!” he was commanded.

Then there was a distraction, as the barman also came and joined the crowd. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” he whispered to Miss Trenchard. She smiled and thought the same thing. Beneath her frumpy dress, her generous knickers were already moist from the excitement.

CRACK ! CRACK! Two fast strokes followed. The audience was hushed and a little flexing and swishing of the cane through the air followed.

CRACK! This time there was an anguished “ARRGH!” from the prince.

CRACK! CRACK! He was taking it comparatively well, considering that the cane was a severe rattan.

CRACK! The ninth stroke fell, with a gasp and some fidgeting from the prince.

“I SHAN’T TELL YOU AGAIN, KEEP STILL BOY!”

A few of the audience chuckled at this admonishment.

CRACK! The tenth stroke was accompanied by a loud grunt from the prince, who was not getting any pleasure from his beating, it seemed.

CRACK! CRACK! A final brace from the regimental cane and a sharp “YEOWWW!” from the prince. A round of applause from the audience followed. The beaten arse was red and sore all over. That rattan cane was clearly something special.

“That completes the dozen strokes with the regimental cane. That was for bringing disgrace on our noble regiment. Miss Trenchard will now take over. She will be giving a traditional six of the best using this school cane, just to remind the prince that he has been behaving just like a naughty schoolboy. I trust you will enjoy this, and ask again for some hush as we proceed.”

SWISH-CRACK! “YEEOWW!” Unexpectedly, the prince cried out. The sting of this whippier cane was awful on top of the earlier beating.

SWISH-CRACK! “ARRGH!” Clearly Miss Trenchard was an expert with the cane.

SWISH-CRACK! The prince managed to keep quiet for this one, even though it stung like mad.

SWISH-CRACK! Perhaps he was getting used to it?

SWISH-CRACK! Perhaps he was enjoying it?

“Thank you, thank you Miss Trenchard! An excellent thrashing! It seems your time as a domestic science teacher wasn’t a complete waste of time!” The audience laughed at the joke. “Now, there is one additional matter to deal with…”

The prince groaned.

“I’m afraid that the prince flashed us earlier with his excited member, so I will award three additional strokes for that. Miss Trenchard, would you be so kind?”

SWISH-CRACK! “ARGH!”

SWISH-CRACK! “OWWW!”

SWISH-CRACK! “YEEEOWWW!”

Miss Trenchard would have liked to carry on all night, but fairness made her put down the cane and say, “Well despite the noise, I think he’s had enough, Sir!” The prince had taken 21 hard strokes, but at last his suffering was over. The audience cheered and clapped as he was allowed up and handed his clothes. Life would never be the same again for many of the participants and spectators. But was the prince happy?

______________)

D I S C L A I M E R

All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real businesses or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne

What a sexy girl Penny was. Always dressed fashionably in a mini skirt and boots. She reminded me of Bobbie Gentry, but perhaps a little more innocent looking. She was part typist, part stenographer. I’d rescued her from the grim abyss that was the company’s typing pool. I needed a secretary and I felt that I could mould and guide her into that role. Her interview for the job had been a sham as Alan the Personnel Manager and I had already decided the outcome. We’d worked it all out over steaks and beers at the local Berni.

And so it was that I took Penny to her first sales conference. I was scheduled to make one of the last of the key speeches. Imagine my horror when I found that Penny had forgotten to bring my carefully duplicated photostat notes! I gave her a stern telling off! We arranged to meet in my motel room to work on some replacement notes. Although Penny had typed up the original notes, she could remember little of the content. Fortunately I could, as I had been particularly proud of the speech. I dictated the speech again and told Penny that I would need a double-spaced typed copy.

“How am I going to manage that? I don’t have a typewriter! I suppose there might be some typing bureaux in the city?” Tears were welling in her eyes.

“That I doubt. Even the pubs are shut on a Sunday in this place,” I said to her firmly and finally.

“Oh George, what am I to do?”

Fortunately, I had come up with alternative arrangements.

“I’ve spoken to the motel manager. He has agreed that you may use his secretary’s machine. It’s a top of the range IBM electric model, I believe. So it may be a little more sophisticated than the one back at the office. We will be meeting his secretary, Miss Davies at 4.30 so that she can run through how the machine works.”

“Oh George, thank you so much!”

At the appointed time I took Penny down to meet Miss Davies. Penny was a little taken back by the secretary’s stern manner.

“You should give the forgetful minx a good thrashing!” she said.

The ten pound note I had slipped Miss Davies for that one-liner was paying dividends as Penny looked shame-faced and nodded with embarrassment.

An hour and a half later, there was a knock on my motel room door. It was Penny with the double-spaced speech. I gave her a hug. She burst into tears.

“Hey, hey, there’s no need for that my girl!” I said reassuringly.

“Oh George! I felt so guilty. And embarrassed when Miss Davies said that I deserved a good thrashing.”

“Well she was right there, don’t you think?”

“Maybe?”

“There’s no maybe about it. Of course you do! I expect you used to get thrashed at school? “

“Oh yes. All the time! Strap and cane. Cane and strap!”

“It just so happens that I have a cane in my golf bag.”

“I see, George. Then it’s almost as if you were expecting me to slip up.”

“Yes, maybe I was having a psychic moment!”

“The hell you were George Jackson! You’re a real fraud, but it just so happens that a good caning is just what I need to clear my conscience.”

She strolled over and emptied my golf bag before I could stop her. Golf clubs and balls, tees, a crook handled school cane, a brown riding crop, black handcuffs and a schoolboy cap all fell out. She picked up the handcuffs and cap and waved them at me.

“It seems that I have rather a kinky boss!” She laughed at me.

“Er yes, Penny. I can explain!”

“Don’t bother. You’re not the first kinky man I’ve met. I will however take that caning from you because I have let you down.”

“That’s jolly decent of you Penny! How many strokes did you used to get at school?”

“Six. Always six. Towards the end anyway. But you can give me seven as I’m that little bit older now.”

I was going to get to cane her but she was the one calling the shots! I thought about it a little. I was getting a good deal so I didn’t dare ask her to take more strokes or to drop her knickers. But then, to my astonishment, she bent over the bed and slipped her mini and knicks off for me anyway!

Her bottom was gorgeous. I could see other treasure, too. I picked the cane up from the floor. The cane had been in the family for years. My brother and I had both felt its bitter bite many a time. But now the cane was in for a real treat! The pert buttocks of a pretty young thing, just twenty-one years old, were awaiting its cruel caress.

SWISH-CRACK!

“AAARGH!” she cried.

SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK!

“OWWW!”

SWISH-CRACK!

“YEOWCH!”

I stopped for a minute to examine the marks on her bottom. I felt her bottom. It felt good!

“That wasn’t part of the deal, George!” she snapped at me. Duly admonished, I picked up the cane and resolved to give her three hard, fast strokes to teach her a lesson.

SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK! SWISH-CRACK!

“AAARGH! You bastard!”

“Shut up, Penny! A caning’s meant to hurt you know.”

“I know, I know. It’s OK. Wow! I’m alright now. I think. Those last three took me by surprise George, that’s all. Anyway, you can cane me any time I do make a genuine slip up. But if you want me to cane you, it’s going to cost. Ten pounds!”

It was turning into an expensive day for me. I shrugged and said “If there’s one thing I’ve realised as I get older, it’s that I don’t miss money, Penny.”

Erotic fiction by Rod Cayenne

With his bushy beard, red uniform and soft leather boots, the town crier cut a distinctive figure. Over the last few months, I’d got to know him well. It started with me asking if I could take his picture. He posed enthusiastically for me, waving his bell, and booming away. He was definitely a larger than life figure. His name was Gerald, Gerry to his friends.

We became drinking friends. His thirst accounted for his ample build. We were both unattached and it soon became evident there was some sexual attraction between us. I longed to cuddle his manly gut and have him master me.

I remember my first visit to his spacious detached property. “Noise is no problem here, so I can practice my town crier routine in peace.”

The house was full of knick-knacks and bric-a-brac. Items from olden times, curios and antiques were everywhere. He had a collection of town crier competition memorabilia, and a row of brass handbells neatly lined up along a dresser in the lounge. He polished these every week, he informed me. “This one’s my favourite,” he said picking up an undistinguished looking one. He rang it a couple of times. It was loud and clear.

“Why that one?” I asked.

“It’s from my old school! I’m very lucky to have it. The old headmaster sold me it. He was a bit of a rascal, if you ask me. Sold me a couple of canes, too. They were school property really, not his to sell! Still, I’m very happy to have them.”

“May I see the canes?” I asked innocently.

“Well, I’m not sure…” he laughed.

“Why not?”

“Well, at our school there was a rule. If the cane was seen, it had to be used.”

“Oh ho! Well, I suppose I could take a stroke or two,” I offered, probably because I’d been drinking.

“There was another rule too. If the cane was to be used, it was always six of the best.”

“I see,” I said, slowly becoming aware that I was becoming trapped by my affable friend!

“And the final rule was that all canings were bare bottom!” he boomed. “Still want to see the canes?”

“Yes, OK Gerry,” I said, blushing and rubbing my bottom nervously.

“Jolly good. Have you had the cane before?”

“No, it was often threatened but I managed to escape it.”

“Well, your luck has run out at last. As it’s your first time, I won’t do it too hard. It certainly won’t kill you. I used to have a striped arse all the time.”

I felt turned on by his colourful language. He went upstairs but soon returned with two thin crook-handled canes. They looked faintly ridiculous, tiny indeed, as he held them in front of his large belly.

“Bare bottom, over the ottoman please.”

I felt stupid and exposed. I was on all fours, offering my bottom up like some animal. The first stroke whistled down. At first it didn’t feel too bad, but then the agonising pain kicked in. I felt foolish. A second stroke lashed down, it was awful. He wasn’t playing and his promise not to do it too hard had been broken, I felt. The third stroke was bad, but somehow I began to enjoy the bite and sting, especially when the next stroke landed. A fifth made me gasp, more with excitement than pain. Stroke six landed heavily and made me cry out. At least it was over, I consoled myself. Gingerly, I started to get up from the ottoman.

“STAY DOWN!” he commanded. “I told you it was six of the best each time the cane appeared.”

“Yes?”

“Well there are two canes here, so you’re getting a second six!”

I groaned to myself and bent over again, offering my bare cheeks up for further chastisement.

“I’ll count the strokes for you. You can concentrate on the pain,” he laughed loudly. I wasn’t sure what the significance of the counting was, but I was too turned on to care, to be honest.

Crack!

“ONE!” he boomed.

Crack!

“TWO!”

Crack!

“THREE!” he chuckled.

Crack!

“FOUR – I HOPE YOU’RE LEARNING YOUR LESSON!”

“Ooh yes, Gerry” I sighed.

Crack!

“FIVE! STICK THAT BOTTOM UP!”

Crack!

“SIX! Good. That was fun. I think you enjoyed it too! Do you want some more?”

“Oyez, oyez!” I cried.

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Warning – Over 18s Only!

Warning: Contains adult material. Forbidden to those under the age of 18.

This blog is intended for adults only. All listed sites, pictures displayed or referred to in this blog feature consenting adult models and players over the age of 18. All stories and artwork featured are fiction only and refer to adults in role play. This blog is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

Important Note:
The owner of this blog does NOT condone, promote OR encourage the corporal punishment of minors or non-consenting adults.

The Cane

Many people use the rattan cane in their adult relationships. Sometimes this is for domestic discipline. Others use it to spice up their sex lives. Some just like recreating experiences from long ago. You will find fictional stories here which explore these themes. All the characters are aged 18 or over.

Disclaimer

All characters appearing in this blog are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Thought for the moment

"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey" - Kenji Miyazawa, author and poet (1896-1933)

Thought for another moment

"I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what" - Harper Lee, author (1926-2016)

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Bisexual

This blog is bisexual and proud

Dedicated to Jonathan

This site is dedicated to the memory of Jonathan (aka jaybee300), friend, muse, gentleman and master, 1954-2014, R.I.P.